Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss(9)

“Is her hair red?” he’d called out at one point, referring to me. “It’s too bright. It’s clashing with all the blood. It needs more mud or something.” And so more mud was added to my hair.

Now I was standing by a light, filthy hair, surrounded by zombies. I felt hot and a bit claustrophobic. Someone tripped next to me, and I reached out to keep them from falling, when a huge light began to tip. I grabbed the pole, but it didn’t help, the light crashed to the ground, bulb shattering and breaking with a burst. Someone screamed. Several members of the crew rushed forward and immediately began brushing the scattered glass into a pile.

“What just happened?” Remy yelled, staring right at me.

I held up my hands. “It just fell.” I wasn’t sure what had happened. Had the tripping zombie knocked into it? I was just glad nobody seemed hurt.

It was then that my advocate on set stepped forward and said something to Remy that I couldn’t hear. Probably that the underage star with a special contract was going over her allotted hours for the day because Remy said, “What happened to hiring thirty-year-olds who look seventeen?”

Grant laughed next to me.

I scrunched my nose at him. “You could’ve had a thirty-year-old as a costar.”

“That’s hot,” he said.

“Really?”

He shrugged and laughed again.

“That’s a wrap for the day,” Remy called, surprising me. Really? We were ending early? With my dad not breathing down his neck, I thought Remy could fix the light and talk down the advocate. He’d done it before.

As Leah removed the premade section on my face I asked her under my breath, “Should I be worried? Does he think I knocked over that light?”

“No, that was an accident. You did great. He’s just a big bear. Sometimes he forgets a movie becomes a movie during edits.”

“You’ve worked with him before?”

“Lots of times.”

“Leah!” the big bear said.

“Yes?”

“I want more . . . more . . . something on the zombies. Let’s chat.”

“See,” Leah said. “This is his filming persona. He’ll be happy in the end.” She tucked the section she’d taken off my cheek into a red plastic case.

“Red for blood?” I asked, nodding to the case.

“Don’t forget guts. Blood and guts.” She gave me a smile and left to go discuss makeup with Remy.

Grant was talking to some guy who I had seen on set before. He was tall, wearing shorts and flip-flops, and didn’t seem happy. I waved goodbye, but Grant didn’t see me.

I started peeling off wardrobe layers as I walked toward my trailer. Suddenly Aaron was at my side. “Are you okay?” He was looking at my hands like he’d find them bloodied up.

“I’m fine. Was your dad mad about the light?”

He rolled his eyes. “He’s always mad. You did great today. I like the way you glare at Grant. I think it’s very zombieish. My dad liked that part too. He gave a happy grunt.”

I held in my laugh because I could tell he was trying to give me good feedback. Being a director’s son, he’d probably been on a million sets throughout his life. “You’re going to make a great director one day.”

His eyes shot to the floor. “Thanks. Do you need anything?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

He nodded and left me to myself. I slipped off my blouse. I was down to my tank top and ripped-up skirt by the time I closed myself inside my trailer.

A guy around my age sat on the couch, one of his feet propped up on the coffee table, his backpack open beside him. He was the most clean-cut-looking guy I’d ever seen in my life. Had he come straight from singing in a church choir? His dark hair was cropped short on the sides and a little longer on top. He wore a collared shirt and black pants.

I backed out of my trailer, pretended to check the name on the door, then entered again. “I didn’t order a cute boy today. Did I?”

The guy pulled a pencil from the open backpack, took his foot off the coffee table, and leaned forward without even the hint of a smile.

“Are you here to run lines?” I asked. Maybe this was why Remy hadn’t put up a fight about ending the day—he’d sent a coach. I headed for the cabinets in the corner where I stored my script.

“I’m Donavan, your new tutor.”

I did a one-eighty and walked to the hanging rack instead. I hung up my blouse and corset. “Ah. I didn’t order one of those either.”

“Your father told me you’d say that. And he told me to tell you that it’s this or his having a long talk with your director.”

Remy would hate that.

“Did he also tell you how to deliver that message? Because you’re channeling him very well. Although your scowl is a little on the heavy side. Maybe tone it down a notch.”

“Do you need to get ready before we start?”

“Ready? Do you have some brain warm-ups for me?”

His eyes scanned my face, unruffled by my teasing.

“Oh. You mean my makeup. Am I scaring you?”

“Not at all. I found your packet and see you’ve done only about half.”

“I’ve done half? Nice.” I sat on the couch next to him. “But here’s the problem. I can’t do homework with a stranger. Tell me your five-minute history.”